Empty Shoes - 3. Chapter 3

Amazing grace that saved a wretch like me

I've seen my son tonight and I thank the powers that be for sparing his life, I feel guilty but relieved. There's a significant bandage wrapped around his neck, I am told a good number of stiches inside and outside of his mouth, that cheek is covered with a large bandage. There are sheets that cover his lower half and when the nurse isn't looking, I pick the one up. He's been shaved of all body hair and painted with whatever that stuff is they use to clean and prep the area for surgery. There's a wrap-around bandage around his upper thigh He has a catheter for the immediate need, Micha looking over my shoulder breathes a sigh of relief as do I.

We spend the rest of our brief time telling Evan how much we love him, that all will be well before the nurse comes back to escort us out. We both squeeze his hands and I believe he squeezed mine back.

Back in the waiting room my cell phone rings and the finality of the day is established. Thirty-four were shot and twenty-seven have died. I don't want to leave my son's side, neither does Micha but we are convinced it is time to go home and clean up, there is nothing at this moment that will change. If for nothing else it will give us time to process before we return. Jacob and Ruth will stay till we get back as they shepherd us out of the waiting room, a tired, beaten exhausted bunch.

What I didn't see or expect were the number of parents we cross paths with, some distraught, barely holding on, to those crying simple tears of relief. Despite their unmitigated sorrows, to a family they reach out to console us, to offer their prayers and support for Evan. Emotionally it has pushed me to the very limits of my being, my compassion for my fellow man had been sorely tested this afternoon and here through simple acts of kindness this late evening, a restoral has taken place. I know I will need this strength in the days to come and follow.

As we approach the exit a dozen or more lights turn on flooding our path. My uncles try to redirect us and I tell them no, we are obligated to face this, this last trial tonight. As we exit the doors it's a facing a braying mob, the shouted questions, reporters jostling each other, trying to be first.

Something happens and I am beyond irritated, I hold up my hands in the universal gesture for the folks to settle down. When the crowd quiets I simply inform them that I have a brief statement and we will have a news conference in the morning once we know all the facts.

I tell the assembled that thirty-four were shot and twenty-seven have died today, the shooters are in custody, that my son was gravely injured and one of those expected to survive. That all of our hearts go out to those who lost a child today and to those who face a long road of recovery. We're not sure when classes will resume but when they do it will be in respect for those who suffered and lost today. I thank them and tell them goodnight; we will see them tomorrow at a time yet to be determined.

As we start to make our way through the scrum the reporters start yelling out follow up questions.

Micha stops and faces the crowd and screams. "Stop!! For god's sake just stop! What the fuck is wrong with all of you, did you not just hear Superintendent Thompkins, what fucking…part...of what he just said do…you…not…understand??"

Standing there it is clear Micha is enraged, pushed to the breaking point. I reach out and he brushes my hand away.

"Thirty-four students were shot and twenty-seven have died today, try and show a little respect instead of acting like rabid animals, have none of you have any common decency. If it weren't for my boyfriend, I'd be dead today!

Look at me…take a good look at me covered in his blood, is this what you all want…go ahead take your fucking pictures!! He rose up and saved my life along with many others placing himself in harm’s way! Are…You…Satisfied…Now!!!

Micha is in a roll now; he's walking towards the phalanx of reporters. In a voice as grave as he can make it, he tells the assemblage,

"Go home and come back tomorrow as requested, there's nothing further for you here tonight!

Uncle Ethan steps up to Micha who isn't quite finished still pressing towards the reporters who start to give ground.

"Thirty-four students were shot and twenty-seven have died today, ask yourselves when, will it stop, how many more children have to die before you pull your collective head out of your asses??"

As Uncle Ethan wraps a broken Micha up who buries his in his chest to hide the tears as he takes away from the assembled, shocked reporters. As they start to walk back Micha turns one last time to the scrum of reporters. His voice is softer now, he's nearly broken, he can't stop the tears.

"Remember those families suffering tonight, try to show that you have within you, the dignity to show compassion for those who have lost and for those who are suffering."

"Thirty-four…twenty-seven, never forget, dear…God…please…never…forget."

As Micha and Uncle Evan walk back to us, the lights go off and the crowd silently disperses.

Playing it as it lays

My phone won't stop ringing, I have had to turn it off. The morning news is aflame with Micha's tirade…well tirade just may be the wrong word but something Micha said last night has nearly has broken the internet and social media.

Thirty-four…Twenty-seven has exploded, nearly instantaneously 34/27 is cropping up, as the morning fades to afternoon, it is all the news can talk about; it’s being painted on houses, front doors, street signs, it's plastered on buildings and hanging from banners over bridges and highway overpasses, its spray painted on billboards. It’s being plowed into cornfields, affixed to cars and trucks, and spreading like wildfire.

How did Miriam know?

~~~

We hear little of this of course as we gathered in Evan's hospital room, he's awake now, tired, he looks drawn and gaunt, he struggles to speak. His first words, a faint whisper, were to Micha, thanking him for ducking, he mouths I love you.

He turns to me, barely able to maintain his composure, He knows…that I know the unbearable nearly happened, that we nearly lost him. His chest is heaving as he abjectly struggles for air tears course down his face as he labors to form the words, apologizing for putting from the rough but he had to play it as it lay. I break down, can't stop the tears and am ever so humbled.

We avoid all the things we can, I gave the obligatory press conference the following morning, recite the facts but announce I need to step aside, I am too close…having a son who was wounded. I am needed there; in my stead I will let my assistant superintendent take it from here. I hold up my hands for a moment and simply state, no more questions and walk of the stage to utter silence.

Evan makes remarkable progress and we can take him home after five days, followed up with months of aftercare and cosmetic surgery. We are there long enough to pick up our suitcases and leave for Maple Hollow but an hour and a lifetime away.

It's while we are up at the farm that the trolls from all sides of the political spectrum and they start having a field day, like all the other mass shootings it's fake with child actors and fake blood, certain conservative talk show hosts play it up, it's a deep state government plot to take guns away. Certain liberal pundits push very hard in the other direction to ban all guns, again ignoring that those who should not have access were able to get ahold of the assault rifles used.

The boys and myself are a hot item, everyone wants and needs us to appear on camera and print. We graciously decline, we need time to heal, to process and figure how in the heck we will able to move forward with our lives.

In the meantime, 37/24 continues to grow and spread across the country and is now spotted internationally on several continents.

Then all hell broke loose, it seemed like nothing would ever be the same.

~~~

The rage of the trolls and counter trolls continue to grow and demonize us and the politics that allowed this and other mass shootings to happen. Like 34/27 the verbal onslaught continues, the airwaves are filled with oral diarrhea and continue to spew invective, facts no longer matter, it is those who are the most strident of the angry voices that are heard.

Six weeks from the end of the school year the security video from the cafeteria, finds its way to the surface and becomes public. It is amazing the hush that falls over the trolls and the media naysayers as the video proves to be incontrovertible evidence. The chain of custody is bullet proof up to the point it became public through a news organization's Freedom of Information request. The decision to release it comes after an agonizing debate with those who actually matter. We can't afford to have it leaked or altered, to have a pilfered copy destroy the veracity. Several parents who lost a child have banded together; they've launched multiple lawsuits against the trolls.

Everybody wants Evan and Micha after they see the security video, they see Evan turn to Micha, obviously yelling at him, they see Micha duck as the tablet wizzes over where his head just was, they see the tablet connect with one of the shooters temple…dropping him instantly. They see the second shooter turn as his compatriot goes down and fire two shots into Evan, who crumples like a sack of potatoes as the first members of the baseball team take the other shooter down.

They see one teenage boy take a shooter down at great risk to his life as a group of teenagers take the other shooter down. The assault rifle takes no time to mow down a great number of students before anyone could react, it is what they were made to do, be a highly effective killing machine. The only time they stop their wanton destruction is for the few seconds it takes to eject and insert a fresh clip of death in multiple numbers.

In the awful interval after both shooters are down to the time first responders arrive, all they see is bedlam as those who are able and not helping flee the cafeteria. They see the first responders arrive behind several police officers who realizing the coast is clear haul the shooters away once identified and the remaining students are escorted out of the cafeteria.

The first responders do their job well, it is a situation they have been trained for, within minutes they have, with the help of students who stayed to help their wounded friends.

They see Evan, his head a bloody mess placed on a stretcher while Micha, covered in blood, holds the tourniquet until relieved by a first responder. The remaining video is inconsequential, all anyone sees is the shooters enter the cafeteria who begin their rampage of destruction and Evan and Micha. Knowing they are boyfriends only intensifies the demand.

Micha's plea for decency is largely forgotten, once back home, we're followed to and from places we need to go, there's more to the story and every media outlet wants the scoop. They've tried sneaking "students" into the school to get close to the boys, our neighbors report photographers lying in wait on our street.

They've been spotted in the bushes and in trees as well as slowly driving up and down the street. At the beginning a few brave brazenly tried approaching us, coming right up to the house, and squatting at the end of the driveway on the sidewalk. Although Evan can't golf, he follows the team, when possible, the boys golf matches are no longer publicized, security must be posted and accompanies the team.

The only solace is at the local course….

We are fresh meat once again.

One nationally recognized media star with digital, print, radio and television platforms, attempts to go so far questioning if is it the gun or the shooter, and utterly ignoring the ease of access to the weapons, "Let's look at this and see what makes it a great weapon for the homeowner and what makes it so safe, really...if you examine the issue, it's a security issue, where were the parents, the kid had parents…where were they?

The other side of the coin wants to ban all guns, damn the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, another wants to tax them so heavily it would be ruinous and yet another wants everyone to be able to sue the gun manufactures. The extreme wackos on both sides seem to control the debate, and no one hears each other as they don't give up or give in.

The debate is raging across all media platforms with no quarter given. 37/24 isn't going away. Politicos are starting to take it seriously; dead and wounded children are going to have an impact on the next election cycle.

Somehow, we make it through the remainder of the school year. The only way to get the media to back off was to agree to a set interview, so long as the media backs off. We've agreed to answer any and all questions in a no holds barred format. The time and date will be set once they honor their commitment and the school year is over.

Decisions…decisions…decisions

It took some doing but we managed to get the interview with the boys finalized, we would hold it up at Maple Hollow, we hadn't made the decision to do it in the converted barn's great room which was used for our extensive family gatherings or out on Ant Island on the cabin's porch.

We insisted that wherever the interview was held that there would be one camera and crew, no additional people other than those members of the media, no assistants, or producers. They would be met downtown at the Hutchinson Hotel and brought up to the farm.

The need was to invite interviewer's representative of the various media outlets. We all agree we need to select one of the news anchors for the big three networks, an international choice is needed and we picked the BBC. We agree to a print reporter from the NY Times and the Boston Globe. Who else to invite become an issue.

We need to be fair and of all the conspiracy peddlers, Trent Adams was the worst, the most injurious, that he had the highest rated cable broadcast certainly was a factor. The man has no scruples, no shame or humanity. If it would increase his ratings, he'd dig up his mother from her grave and crucify her on a national 'newscast'. The man is a vendor of erectile dysfunction miracle potion and various other pills for what whatever ails you. A snake oil salesman if there ever was one. The man was a shill, a toady for various conservative points of view where facts simply did not matter in the advancement of their regressive agenda.

All of us were against inviting him except Micha, who in discussion with Evan insisted he be allowed. We give way to the boys wishes and the invitations are sent. We fix a time and date for the interview, ten days from now. It will allow time for the invited to fix their schedules. No questions will be off limits at Micha's insistence, it will be a no-holds barred interview.

ABC, CNN the BBC, the New York Times, and Boston Globe all agree to the conditions, one camera and operator, the feed will be available to all through satellite links. The NY Times and Boston Globe agree to the same conditions, their reporting will be shared on-line with any all-print organizations who wish to use the copy.

When the news comes that Trent Adams has rabidly and vociferously declined, that he will not partake in such a media stunt does not surprise us. He will instead anchor his broadcast from the entrance to the farm or somewhere there-about. Again, there is a heated discussion on whether to allow this and Micha, once again, convinces us to let him. I look at Micha once we've settled our disagreements and now, I am fully convinced he's up to something.

I watch him leave the room with Uncle Arik, both of them in deep conversation their heads close together as they head towards the apartment that was built so long ago for a recovering Uncle Ethan. He recovered there after his tour in Viet Nam and the additional injuries suffered, when he survived the transport plane crashing in a military airfield in Germany. It is set up in such a manner that it provides an ease of use for those recovering from serious injuries. It is where Evan and Micha stay while up at the farm.

I find we are spending more time up at the farm, time up there allows us to heal, to knit together our broken bits, time moves slowly up here, we aren't as rushed as we settle into the peaceful rhythms away from the maddening world outside these stone walls.

Many, many weeks of physical therapy had worked wonders on Evan. For the most part he had healed as best as could be hoped for. The bullet that ripped through the soft flesh of his cheek, forever marking him exited just below the joint of the jawbone on the other side of his face. Had he'd not yelling at Micha to duck, the angle would have been all wrong. At point of exiting, it scored a deep line across his throat. Continuing, it then grazed across the top of his shoulder before hitting the wall behind him. Had he been shot by the student with the assault rifle, he would not have survived.

Some of the best reconstructive and plastic surgeons worked to minimize the obvious signs of the shooting, while there would always be visible scarring. It was the shot to his thigh that nearly took Evan away from us. The 22-slug ripped through the inside of his upper left thigh barely nicking the femoral artery. Quick thinking, direct pressure and a tourniquet saved his life, the first responders alerted by the student holding Evan's head were miracle workers.

Micha rattled off all of Evan's information as the first responders took over, blood type, no medications age and anything else he could think of, quietly praising the comprehensive first aid/responder course both he and Evan took the year prior. While he kept saying he wasn't shot they took him because of the blood all over him.

During his recovery Evan needed to use a wheelchair. Once he was healed enough to be allowed some mobility he graduated to crutches. The day he was allowed to ditch the crutches he came home with a cane which he detested nearly as much as the crutches which in his opinion, far superior to the wheelchair.

Sitting on the steps by the front door was the head greenskeeper from Belmont Hills with a package for him. Holding it out for Evan to open and once unwrapped, he found a 3-iron fastened into a cane. To say he was stunned would be an after statement. For a moment he looked like a guppy, his mouth trying to form the necessary words of thanks as his eyes misted and a tear or two crisscrossed his cheeks. He launched himself into the waiting arms of his old pal who hugged him fiercely back.

Using his gnarled old callused thumbs to smooth the tears away he gripped Evan firmly by the shoulders and turned him back down the walkway. Looking back over to me, he let us both know that the game missed both he and Micha, it was time to go back for a visit.

~~~

The superintendent of the local golf course reached out to us after receiving a call from our local club. He's invited the boys to spend as much time as they'd like at Nipmuc Hills. It's a Robert Trent Jones design from the 1920's in magnificent shape. A far tougher course than they are used to, it demands your attention as you traverse the narrow fairways and places a premium on accuracy.

The boys are missed of course but it is understood they need to be elsewhere as the tempest swirling around the continues unabated. What is left unsaid but soundly demonstrated, is the care and concern the folks from Belmont Hills provide. Not a week has gone by that someone, usually a caravan of greenskeepers, mechanics, administrative staff along with the course superintendent and club pro show up unannounced and become regular visitors.

Their visits are quiet, they are glad to spent some time with Evan and Micha, they offer a necessary distraction from the maelstrom. They are providing the necessary tools that will keep the boys grounded, free from the distractions, helping to rebuild the foundation so that once this all blows over, they will be able to move on with their lives.

It was up at Nipmuc Hills that the boys began to find the therapy that works best for them. We insisted that professional help be availed upon, and those councilors were wonderful in helping the boys work on the internal demons. It was getting back to the routine of time spent working, earning playing time that served them well.

Once again Micha and Evan worked with the mechanics, swinging wrenches, servicing all the various mowers, raking out sand traps and wielding leaf blowers. They insisted they be treated like everyone else, no special favors. They undertook all the dirty jobs with a smile, listened as before to the years of accumulated wisdom and talent.

Nipmuc Hill provided a necessary sanctuary, they welcomed with open arms a weekly infusion of rotating staff from Belmont Hills. The boys were the butt of many a practical joke and gave as good as they got, there was a return to a healthy sense of normalcy once again.

The only immediate dark cloud hanging over their heads was the upcoming interview with the national and international media. I was not looking forward to it, I'd been suffering a case of the jitters. It was with a real sense of trepidation that I was not looking forward to the interview. Something was off and I could not, just couldn't place my finger on it.